


Blossoming

by labocat



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Night, ToT: Monster Mash, Trick or Treat: Trick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 14:56:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12435186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labocat/pseuds/labocat
Summary: Come and see, they say. Come and see the tree.





	Blossoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Allekha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha/gifts).



The crowds always flock around it. They flock around all the trees, of course, but no matter the season, no matter the weather, that tree always has people under it.

While in bloom, it blossoms pure white, its petals hardly falling to the ground except in perfect, whole flowers. Even if trampled, the petals decay slowly, the whole park taking on the aesthetic of a different season, covered in white as the flowers scatter on the wind. Even against the range of pinks of the other trees, the crowds come flocking to sit under the one with the white blossoms.

With their attention on the blossoms, without a trace of color, most miss the way the bark of the tree is darker than its compatriots, the cracks of the outer bark showing an inside as dark a red as the fruit it bears.

It’s the wrong sort of cherry tree to yield edible cherries, but that hardly seems to stop it: its fruit is fat on the branches, over-ripe and blood-red almost immediately, juices dripping down the chins and over the fingers of those who partake of it before sinking back into the soil. You hear them say it is a marvel, a miracle, that it is sweet; you wouldn’t know. You can’t taste what you produce.

Nights in the park are a different matter; few people enter this part of the park at night, staying closer to the more well-lit sections. No one actively avoids it, but there’s always a reason for taking an alternate path, no matter how much longer it might be. It’s when you can feel the pulses of power, calling out. There are always those who come before they’re called, lured by urban legend or their own previous trips, their footsteps quick and eager, bringing their bounty for the tree to partake. The ones bound by duty, who inherited the burden of care are next, their steps more careful, their offerings always less frequent. They are not needed as often these days, taking care of the grounds rather than the tree. Then there are those who are called, by blood spilled and splashed. They may not have known about the tree before but as the color of blood recedes from their vision and the scent of the blood on their hands seeps in, they feel it. They come cautiously, unbelieving, but give their offerings willingly, hopefully.

No matter who offers them, the bodies sink into the ground easily, slipping past the blanket of flowers and leaves. The roots shift and settle, wrapping around their new occupants and pressing their older tenants deeper. You will be one of them soon, your body stripped of all nutrients, flesh long gone and bones little more than dust, but you still remember waking from a cold slumber to the warm embrace of the tree, the half-aware draining and dreaming that became your days. 

It is not so bad, you tell your new compatriots. It is not so bad to be reborn, to know you will keep living. It is not so bad, to never feel the sun on your face again. You are part of something greater now, and the memories of those given to the tree become part of the tree. You are never without new information or new memories of life. You will live forever. The tree will live forever. It is not so bad, you say, your voice becoming part of the call, the tree’s call. Come, come and see.


End file.
